James Sale Poetry

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TO BE A PILGRIM


COULD I BUT (PSALM 51)


Could I but see that face I’d know

So deep inside me beauty lives,

And all the ugliness I’ve done

Would be reformed, informed by love.


Could I but hear that voice of His -

Like some bell sounding well below

The walled resistance of my mind -

At last I would obey His law.


Could I but feel His touch on me

My sickness would be swept out clean -

The fever broken - shame flushed free -

And I would be a child again.


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